


Overload

by ghostwriter00797



Category: Stretch Armstrong and the Flex Fighters (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Identity Reveal, Jake is Stressed, Nathan and Ricardo take turns being mother hens, Superhero Shenanigans, and Mark does not take well to that, because Jake is a mess, so he quits everything that isn't absolutely necessary, tagging graphic depictions of violence just in case for chapter 4, too much is going on at once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter00797/pseuds/ghostwriter00797
Summary: Jake has had enough. He's losing the balance between school, his father's schedules, and his duties as a superhero. He's losing sleep, weight, and the pressure is becoming too much. He can't avoid his father forever, but he can certainly try. And when he can no longer hide, there will be consequences.





	1. Snapshot

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I had, because if I was a superhero and had the schedule that Jake did I would not cope well. Sorry if the characterization is off. I wrote this super late at night.

“Dr. C., are you sure they’ll show up?”

They’ve been staking out this place for days without a sign. Absolutely no suspicious activity, just the screams of old machinery and the moans of the dangerously unstable building beneath him. Whatever weapons the latest batch of criminals are out to steal, they’re taking their sweet time.

“Patience. They’ll be there in time.”

He doesn’t doubt her, but the constant watch is becoming harder to juggle along with school and extracurriculars. Puffs of white, hot breath against the freezing night, swirl in the wind as his eyes scan the same skyline. Nothing.

“Stretch?”

A hand on his shoulder, delicate, startles him out of his watch. Wingspan is next to him, concern on his face.

“It’s my turn on watch. Why don’t you try to sleep for a while?”

He’s about to protest, but Omni-Mass cuts him off.

“You look awful dude. You still need to recover from our last fight anyway. I’ll wake you up if we see something.”

He knows they’ll force him to rest if he won’t on his own, but he still tries to ignore the sighs of relief when he takes the most stable path back to where Omni-Mass is doing homework. A blanket is thrown into his face, soft and still warm from Wingspan. As petite as his friend is, he’s just like a furnace.

“Oh yeah, your dad called again. Are you sure you guys are okay?”

Stretch stays silent. They aren’t ‘okay’, not even close, but he won’t tell. Just another day, another phone call, another scolding, and maybe even a very loud argument to top it off. It’s become routine. The more time he devotes to protecting the city, the less time he has to cover homework, clubs, and everything else that is scheduled for him.

“Stretch?”

Breathe in, breathe out, and let it go. He plasters a smile on his face and says something, anything, to make sure that he’s fine. He’s not, he’s going to crack from the pressure sooner or later, but they don’t need to know. Their work is more important. He still watches the skyline through half-lidded eyes, slowly lulled by the warmth and soft chatter between the other two. Nothing is there, nothing other than the faint lights of Charter City, but he won’t stop searching. When he finally slips off, head coming to rest on Omni-Mass’ shoulder, he does not dream. There is only the same skyline, trailing farther than the eye can comprehend.


	2. Frayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking to a new day is never fun, but it's even less so when you're Jake Armstrong. The pressure begins to really take its toll after a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than I thought it would to write. It's not what I expected to come out, but it's a good starting point for the rest of the plot. I hope you enjoy it! Jake is stressed right now but I promise he gets a happy ending! I swear!

Waking up has never been a pleasant task. Every morning comes with that dreaded schedule, his life planned out for him down to the second. His father’s voice is too cheerful, too false, to induce anything but stress and frustration.

“Stretch, c’mon man, wake up. It’s time to go.”

Omni-Mass’ voice filters through his groggy brain as his body very pointedly complains about the cold. Sleep-blurred vision shows the same skyline that haunted his dreams, if they were dreams at all.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘m up.”

Up, but by no means awake. The smog of the Oldtown factories is already rising into the air. The faint buzz of cars, the twinkling of kitchen lights in the faint glow of the dawn, all of it inspires that particular warm feeling in his heart. Charter City and Oldtown. Their territory, their people, their home.

“You gotta get home man, it’s almost six. Your dad won’t be too happy if you’re not there again.”

Stretch’s dad is never happy with him, not anymore, but he keeps that thought to himself. The small slump in Omni-Mass’ shoulders and the slight swaying of his stance betrays his exhaustion. Wingspan is nearly the same. 

“You guys took my shifts, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question. Frustration bubbles in the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning. They’ve been doing this more often, probably out of worry. 

“You shouldn’t. You should have let me take them. I’m not just going to let you two run yourselves into the ground-”

“What? Like you do?”

Wingspan, suddenly tense, looks at him with eyes full of fire. Omni-Mass does the same, and he can’t even begin to think of how he’s going to defuse them this time.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really, just focus on keeping yourselves in top shape.”

For a moment the silence weighs heavy between them, and then they let out a breath. Maybe they’re too tired to argue, or maybe he’s finally wearing them down. Like it never happened, Stretch slips past both of them. He knows they want to keep him safe, but he can handle his own problems.

“Stretch-”

He throws himself off the ledge before Omni-Mass can say anything, letting the adrenaline of freefall clear the last dregs of sleep away before he reaches out for the nearest handhold. A jolt later, and he flies through the air back towards the house that has come to feel like a prison. He wonders if it says something about him when he would rather face off with death as a superhero than return home every morning.

* * *

 

The stacks of homework are the first to greet him within the room, all in plain sight of the vid screen so his father can see him “up” and working first thing in the morning. Never mind that last night was the first time he had eight hours of sleep in months. It was nice, but he knows that he’ll be pulling more all-nighters to get all of this done.

A brush over the switch and Stretch disappears, replaced by Jake Armstrong. A glimpse of his reflection has him jumping, heart pounding with the fear that his father may have seen. There’s nothing behind him, no disapproving glare or shock, just his ragged and tired face.

“Ah. Good. You’re already awake. I’ve sent your schedule to your tablet.”

Jake can’t even bring himself to turn around. His father loves him, he knows, but it’s mornings like this when he can’t be sure. When his voice is cold and his orders are stricter than normal. When the man can’t even put on a facade of happiness.

“Thank you. Dad…”

Trailing off, he doesn’t need to hear the click to know that the transmission has ended. A look at his tablet shows a doubled schedule, another appointment with the psychologist that he won’t make, and infinite opportunities to disappoint his father again. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many all-nighters he pull or how much he sacrifices, Jake can’t fix this. He knew what he was getting into when he accepted Rook’s offer. If only he didn’t have to fail his father, feel the shadow of his mother hanging over him as he tries to do what she would have wanted.

The clock shows that he’s already going to be late to his first task. It’s not like he thinks he’ll be able to get there in time, but he can try. Still in his uniform from the day before, he doesn’t even pause to eat before leaving. Nevermind the fact that he can’t remember the last time he ate, he’ll grab some coffee on the way and hope that he has time during his free period. It’s not likely, but Jake is used to this. 

And in the rush to catch the train, another little thread in his mind begins to fray under the stress.


	3. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots of a typical schoolday for one Jake Armstrong and his two very concerned best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two months, and it's not much, but I hope this is satisfactory!

The glass panes of the school glitter in the morning light, the few early students chatting in the first rays of sunlight. Jake isn’t one of them. He’s already in the library, skipping his morning workout in favor of completing whatever is due today. Nathan and Ricardo are probably looking for him, but Jake isn’t in the mood to be found.

He’s on his fourth cup of coffee when the first bell rings.

* * *

 

“Wow. You look like-.”

“ Ricardo! ”

“What? Like you weren’t just thinking the exact same thing?”

The whispered bickering would almost be comforting if it wasn’t about him. 

“Guys, just pay attention, will you?”

Surprisingly, they fall silent on the first try. He doesn’t miss the concerned glance they share, frustration rearing its head for a moment before he has to focus on Gabe’s overly-dramatic reading of Hamlet (or at least pretend to). Why their teacher had decided to let him do it, Jake would never know, but that wasn’t his problem. He had calculus to finish.

* * *

 

He doesn’t bother to get anything for lunch. Eating takes time he doesn’t have, and he needs to finish his part of their current botany project. Thus the extra large coffee placed in front of him is a pleasant surprise.

“Ricardo, I could kiss you.”

His friend chuckles, hand resting on his shoulder for a moment before he sits down.

“Thanks man, but I think I’ll pass. Just make sure you eat the muffin too, or Nathan might shove it down your throat.”

They’re learning. He sighs, and grabs it. It’s gone in two minutes, and he doesn’t even look up from taking notes.

* * *

 

Nathan and Ricardo ride the train home with him. He falls asleep in between them, and they don’t tell him that they rode the loop twice just so he had more time. He notices anyway, but he won’t say anything this time. He doesn’t think he could.


	4. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wrong pretty quickly when you're not at your best in a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any ooc. I'm not great at writing Dr. C.  
> Also, injuries featuring my headcanons on the boys' flexarium enhanced biology.

He’s doing his reading for history class when the first explosive goes off. The concussive blast, far from shaking him, drags a long sigh from his lips.

“Of course, they pick today of all days to do this.”

Stretch thought that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't happen. Unfortunately, the criminals had finally decided to go through with their plan, stealing their weapons from the old factory he and his team had been watching for weeks. And then the second batch had shown up and now they were going at each other.

“Alright guys, let’s go take ‘em down!”

And off the edge of the building he goes, into the fray. Out of the corner of his eye he spots the shadow of Wingspan and Omni-Mass in their favorite combat maneuver. Then he’s crashing down into a masked man and the fight is on. Step to the left. Right hook. Dodging a spinning kick. He stretches every which way, the burn of his muscles keeping him grounded. “Yo, Stretch! Incoming!”

He ducks, a move well-practiced when fighting with Omni-Mass, and the breeze in his hair--plus the loud thud and cries of pain behind him--tells him all he needs to know about that.

“Thanks man!”

He’s very aware of every movement around him, the acrid smell of sweat and blood thick in the air. Once more the ground moves away from him as he flies towards the exit. Everything narrows again. Grab the support poles. Slingshot. There’s a lot of screaming now, more than the gunshots, but he’s still got more to disarm.

“Stretch?!”

All of a sudden his head is spinning, the world is tilting on its side. He stumbles. That costs him. Two shots. One to the left shoulder and one to his right leg. It _hurts_. One of his teammates lets out a howl.

“NO!”

He falls, vision blanking out. There’s a few more gunshots, a lot more screaming, and then silence that is only broken by the screams of steel as the criminals are tied up. He can hear sirens in the distance.

“Stretch! Hey, talk to me!”

He breathes again, sitting up and groaning.

“I… give me a second.”

The bullets didn’t pierce his suit or skin, nothing short of flexarium can do that, but it feels like they did. He took them nearly point blank.

“We don’t have a second dude. We gotta leave before the police get here.”

The sirens are growing louder, and he knows what will happen if they don’t move, goodness does he know, so he stands. Listing to the side, he regrets that immediately. It might be the ringing in his ears, or the pit that is his stomach, but Wingspan has to catch him before he hits the ground again.

“O-kayyy. How about I carry you back to base.”

It’s not a request. It’s probably an indicator of how shocked he is, because for once, Stretch doesn’t argue. He just lets his friend maneuver him until he’s holding on tight, and they slip out the window as the Delta Squad moves in.

 

* * *

 

Stretch wakes up on the medical table in the base. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, but the looks everyone is giving him, even Blindstrike, indicates that this time he won’t be getting off easy. Wingspan is the first to speak.

“Stretch, when was the last time you ate?”

He blinks, shakes his head, and blinks again. He was expecting that, but at the same he wasn’t.

“What?”

“You heard me. When was the last time you ate?”

He can see the worry through their masks. The bubbling comes back, covering up the pain. Omni-Mass gives him a moment, muttering something to Dr. C.

“You really can’t remember man, can you.”

He wants to tell them he can, but at the same time he can’t. Dr. C doesn’t say a word, but he knows that she’ll call him out on whatever lie he comes up with. She’s good at that. She’s also good at giving _looks_ , which is what she is currently doing to his teammates.

“Fine. Don’t talk. But this isn’t over.”

Fuming, Wingspan shoves a sandwich (and where did he get that?) into his hands and storms off, Omni-Mass following. Probably to blow off steam by sparring.

“Stretch. You are incredibly lucky those were not flexarium bullets.”

Everything settles back to normal when her cold, clinical voice pierces the air.

“You will have immense bruising for at least two weeks, possibly less if my calculations about your healing factor are correct. You will not go on missions until it is fully healed, and you will eat enough so that such an incident does not happen again. I have already instructed your teammates to watch you, as you are clearly incapable of taking care of yourself. Any questions? No? Good. Take your team and head home.”

She glides from the room without a sound, leaving him stunned and under the not-so-gentle hands of an irate Blindstrike.

The second thread snaps.


	5. A Falling-Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of unspoken rules when it comes to arguments within the Armstrong family. Too bad they just broke the most important one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at writing arguments, so I apologize in advance for that.  
> Also, this will probably be the last update until December, as I'm going to be participating in NaNoWriMo this November. My time during that month and the weeks before it will be filled with prep and the novel I'll be writing.

It’s well past midnight when Wingspan drops Jake off on the rooftop of his apartment building. He knows that his father is still up, he saw the light before they landed, so he takes his time. The flexarium armor slides back up into his visor, vibrant display going dark as he takes it off. He stands for a moment, watching the moving lights of the city streets below.

The chill of the night seeping through his uniform is welcome, almost soothing to the burning bruising on his body. A quick look at his reflection in the stairwell window shows the dark purple from his shoulder peeking above his shirt collar. All he can do is pop the collar on his jacket and hope that his father won’t be inspecting him too closely. With a sigh, he turns away from the cityscape and heads into the stairwell. Hopefully the late hour will prevent an argument. He should have known better.

 

* * *

 

“Jacob Armstrong, where have you been?!”

Jake doesn’t have an answer, he never does. It’s the same old song and dance. His father yells at him, he doesn’t answer, there’s more yelling, he takes the punishment, and they move on with their lives.

“I don’t _understand Jake_. You never used to do this. I could trust you to come home and follow your schedule down to the second--”

“A schedule that I never agreed to--”

“--And to keep yourself on track for a productive life--”

“--also something I never agreed to--”

“--What happened to that? What changed for you--”

“--Nothing’s changed--”

“--Don’t lie to me Jake--”

“--I’m not lying--”

“ **_\--what would your mother think?_ ** ”

Those words send him reeling back as if struck. It’s an unspoken rule, they don’t bring her into their arguments for good reason. It _hurts_ , more than the strain on his wounds ever could.

“All she ever wanted was for you to have a successful life--”

The bubbling, angry pit in his stomach that has festered for so long stirs to life with a new vengeance.

“No.”

His father stops, blinks at him, narrows his eyes.

“ _What?_ ”

Some of that bubbling escapes in his next words. He knows he’s not thinking straight, that he’s furious, but he’s past caring about that. He’s aiming to _hurt_.

“I. said. no. We don’t know what she would have wanted for me because she’s _dead_.”

The heavy silence that falls is viscerally satisfying, the bubbling continuing to burn. His father’s jaw is moving, but no sound comes out. He takes the opportunity to storm to his room, but before he even makes the shock wears off.

“ **_Jacob._ ** We’re not done here.”

His father is biting out every word, visibly straining to hold onto his temper, and Jake realizes that he needs to leave before he does something irreversible.

“Yes, we are.”

And he runs past his father, out the front door, and keeps going.

 

* * *

 

When he stops it takes a minute to realize where his feet have carried him. His mother’s favorite place, the old park, right underneath the ancient, twisted Oak tree where she would paint with him. It’s as good a place as any to be, and he knows his father will never find him here. The memories are too painful for him, and Mark Armstrong deals with grief in the same way he deals with everything else. Scheduling.

Jake won’t lie, it hurts him to be here too. He misses her _so much_ , but he always feels closer to her in places like these. Along with that, it isn’t too bad of a place to spend the night. He takes a quick glance around, extends a limb, and climbs up as close to the top as he can. Nestled in the crook of a few massive branches and relatively obscured by others, he feels safe enough to let the tension out of his shoulders. Hissing at the pain of his wounds, more prominent now that he isn’t distracted, he takes a deep breath of cold air.

“Hey, Mom. Dad and I had another fight.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, imagines that the sudden breeze is her hand on his back, offering the emotional comfort he could never receive from his father.

“We both said things we shouldn’t have. I know that. _I know that_ . But I’m still _so angry_ with him. I can’t tell him why, he’s too close to Rook, but I don’t know what else to _do_.”

He can’t even muster the energy to care about the crack in his voice or the tears streaming down his face or the bubbling that finally settles down again. All he wants is for her to be here, for her to tell him that it will be alright, that he’s doing the right thing. He knows it won’t happen.

He falls asleep in that old Oak tree, dreaming of what should have been.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes with the sun the next morning, he slips out of his hiding place and dons his armor. Swinging his way across the city, he perches across from his bedroom window, watching carefully until he sees his father leave for work. He almost feels guilty for the bags under the man’s eyes. Almost.

He makes quick work of his mission, packing up his clothing and the necessities. Grabbing his backpack as a last thought, he doesn’t even need to think about what to do next. He heads to Nathan’s house. The place is still quiet, no one will be up for another hour, and he is forever grateful that Ricardo is the only one sharing Nathan’s room at the moment. He hesitates for a moment, and then knocks on the window. His friends wake quickly, Nathan letting him in.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

“Dad and I had a fight.”

Maybe it’s the tear tracks on Jake’s face, maybe it’s the emotion in his voice, but they don’t ask any questions. They simply get him settled down and make sure he eats something before he begins to nod off, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’s not sure which one of them steers him to a bed, but he does hear Ricardo before he slips off.

“Go to sleep buddy. We’ll talk about this when you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've just finished season 2, so there will be references to some of the events that happened in it in future chapters. Not a lot, but some.


End file.
